


Heart of the Chevalier

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uncharacteristically unsure of herself, Cassandra finds herself overcome with her thoughts of and desires for Vivienne. Forcing herself to be brave, like the Chevalier in her favorite novel, Cassandra calls on Vivienne one night while the rest of Skyhold sleeps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart of the Chevalier

Cassandra watched Vivienne as she walked the courtyard between the interior and exterior of the Keep. She moved with such grace, her hips swaying smoothly, her head held high, her shoulders straight and even. She was the embodiment of class and sophistication, everything from the demure shape of her lips to the fluidity of her steps, and if Cassandra watched her too closely, it was simply open curiosity and nothing more. 

Certainly she didn’t wish, secretly, that she could be more like her; that she was not as blunt as a dull blade or as heavy-footed as a bronto. And certainly she didn’t think of Vivienne when she was alone in her room, with candlelight burning low and her head drowsing against her desk. If she did, the thoughts were indistinct, as blurry and unfocused as her eyes when the night grew late. 

It was simple to deny both her envy and her want of Vivienne until she caught her eyes and felt something strong and sudden spread through her belly. When she forgot to breathe, lost in dark, bottomless eyes, it became difficult to convince herself that her feelings for the Enchanter were entirely professional. 

Everyone in Skyhold knew of Cassandra’s fondness for flowery prose and romance, but she would be damned if they knew the written word had stopped being enough for her.

No doubt they would tease her, ceaselessly. Led by Varric, no doubt, who had apparently made it his mission in life to embarrass and taunt her at every opportunity. The damnable dwarf would jump at the chance to write one of his stories about the grim and strict seeker falling in love with the fashionable and gorgeous mage — he would think of it as a game, some kind of lark that made the soldiers in Skyhold smile. For Cassandra, it was far from a game, and she didn’t appreciate her feelings and her secrets being shared with such a group of people. 

So Cassandra kept her feelings to herself, as she always had, turning instead to her stories, where people were brave and passionate and spoke their hearts soft against their lover’s ear. 

It was much easier to be brave on paper. 

****

She armed sweat from her brow, dropping her sword to the stone floor as Cullen leaned against the wall and eased his palm against his side. He sucked in breath sharply, red-faced and sweating, but let out a laugh when Cassandra tried to hand him herbs. “I’m fine,” he said, though he wasn’t, and he would probably have a nasty bruise across his ribs come the morning. 

Their sparring sessions had proved to be the distraction she needed, and while Cassandra was sure that was called _avoidance_ , she would rather occupy her thoughts with where to strike a man’s body with her sword than where to touch her lips to Vivienne’s skin.

Her time was better spent serving the inquisition and preparing the soldier’s for the war that was obviously coming. Fantasies belonged to stories, where they could be safely enjoyed. Cassandra only wanted to do her job, and if that meant that she was forced to swallow down her feelings, that she was forced to lie awake at night with pain growing and spreading through her chest, then so be it. She had made a vow to the inquisitor that she would help her, that she would lay down her life if it meant putting an end to the threat that plagued Thedas. 

What did it matter if Vivienne had a laugh that warmed her? What did it matter if Vivienne stood close to her, bent over her desk, her perfume soft and subtle and beautiful, filling Cassandra’s senses long after she was gone.

What did it matter if she loved her?

There was no time for love in the world they lived in. Vivienne knew it as surely as she did, and if there was a pang of regret, for either of them, it was a pang they knew well, and one they had become skilled at ignoring. 

Cassandra leaned against the wall beside him, with a heavy sigh, easing her head back and closing her eyes. The sky had rent itself apart, the world was in disarray and disorder, and chaos ran rampant; it seemed so simple to occupy her thoughts of anything other than Vivienne — and yet, she thought of the woman, of her lips and her eyes and her hands and every inch between. Frustrated, Cassandra fisted her hands, knocking them painfully against the stone wall. 

“In love, are you?” Cullen asked.

Cassandra grunted a response. She hoped Cullen understood she wished to be left alone, but instead, he laughed. 

“That would be a yes,” he said, still laughing when Cassandra pushed away from the wall and stalked off. 

****

_The Chevalier’s breath quickened, his heart following suit, as his lady leaned in close and breathed softly against his mouth. There was a moment of hesitation, where he trembled behind his armor, where her eyes flicked up to his questioningly, before their lips were sealed together and his hand was firm and warm against the shape of her breast. His mind swam, his stomach flooded with warmth, and he—_

Cassandra closed the book with a flush burning behind her ears and her heart beating a little quicker. She knew she was alone, yet she still looked around her room furtively, _guiltily_ , as though she had committed some egregious sin. She understood, at least on some level, that there was nothing to be ashamed about when it came to her own body and her own desire, yet still… The Chantry had bred guilt and shame in her, and they were not so easily bucked. 

There was a knock at her door, and the guilt — along with the blush — intensified. She cleared her throat, tossing the novel into a drawer and closing it firmly before inviting her visitor inside. 

She knew it was Vivienne before she turned around. Her scent was heavy on the air, and Cassandra’s stomach fluttered. 

“Seeker,” Vivienne said. “You must have forgotten that you were expected in the Hall this evening.”

 _Bloody hell_ , Cassandra thought, and her flush deepened. The inquisitor had expected a full report on what had happened in Redcliffe, and here she was losing herself in silly fantasies. She moved to stand, and Vivienne waved her hand. “Sit, sit,” she said. “Adaar has taken to the field and will not return for a few days.” She smiled, and where once derision had lurked, there was soft sympathy. Perhaps Vivienne knew, just by looking at her, that she was hopelessly smitten, or perhaps it was simply friendly concern. Either way, Cassandra sighed, falling back in her chair with a thump. 

“ _Mon amie_ ,” Vivienne cooed. “You look terrible. Have you been sleeping?”

“There is too much that needs to be done to sleep,” Cassandra said. “I have responsibilities.”

“Don’t we all?” Vivienne asked. “Do you think yourself more vital to this army than the rest of us, Seeker?”

Her flush, cooling on her face, returned hotly. “No,” Cassandra snapped. “But I do think myself more serious than the whole lot of you. If I were so flippant about this war as the rest of you, we would be overrun.”

Vivienne fell quiet. Cassandra thought of apologizing, but she knew she would only find a way to stick her boot even further in her mouth. She cursed herself for being so tactless, so indelicate, so… _crude_. If Vivienne marched out of her room and left her in the dark and silence, she wouldn’t blame her. 

Instead, she eased herself into the chair opposite Cassandra, straightening the hem of her robes. The silence persisted, but there seemed to be no edge to it, no heaviness or tension. When Vivienne spoke, she did so gently, but firmly. “You are not the lifeblood of this inquisition. I think that frightens you. I think that you feel that if you are not vital, if you are not _central_ , that you are failing. You have found yourself as the right hand of the Divine, the hand that moves clearly and openly, that enacts justice and upholds peace. But this is not the Divine’s work we are doing here.” She paused, tilting her head and watching Cassandra sink further in her seat, her face heavily flushed and her shoulders drooping. “I would wager a guess that you were a child who did not play well with others.”

Cassandra’s lips twitched with a smile. “Perhaps,” she allowed. 

“We work together,” Vivienne said. “On our own, we are small and weak. Together, we might have strength enough to save this world.” She shrugged, finally turning her dark eyes away. “Or you can stand here, fists clenched and boots dug in deep, and fall on your own.”

Had she the bravery of the chevalier in her novel, she might have reached out to Vivienne, taken her hand or stroked her cheek; or she might have told her, boldly and strongly, that she wanted to stand with her, always. 

But she was burdened with her own heart; a fragile thing that she could never make as sharp as her sword, or as strong as her shield. 

****

Several nights later she found herself outside of Vivienne’s room with a dog-eared copy of her novel in her hand. The chevalier within the pages was suave and confident, able to sweep his lady off her feet with nothing but a smile and the slight caress of his hand. Cassandra felt cloddish and ill-mannered; she was far more suited to holding a sword than holding a lover’s hand.

She had tried, desperately, to keep her thoughts away from the Enchanter. Cassandra had busied herself with work, in the field and in the Keep. She had committed herself to her skill and her duty, hoping against hope that she could keep herself focused on the matter at hand; the only matter that truly held any importance. But Vivienne remained the only person she could think of; her first thought when she awakened in the morning, and her last when she laid down at night.

Cassandra hadn’t been built for such things. She had been forged of stone and steel, put to the blade, honed carefully against the grindstone of war. Her comfort was found on the field rather than the bedroom, her skill best utilized in battle more than romance. 

Yet there she was, stomach fluttery and knees trembling and heart knocking against her ribs. There she was, with her knuckles rapping Vivienne’s door, with her feet moving her forward when Vivienne called her inside. 

“Seeker,” Vivienne said. She didn’t sound surprised to see her.

Cassandra thought of the chevalier, how he had courted his lady with luxurious gifts and romantic dinners and fancy balls and galas. In typical Orlesian fashion, his exploits only grew grander, each gesture meant to make his lady swoon and fall madly in love with him. She doubted very much that such things happened in real life, but Cassandra was committed to the idea of chivalry; she would make her affection known, and she would promise Vivienne all that she had — her heart and her sword.

She knelt, casting her eyes down when she caught Vivienne’s bemused smile. 

“My lady,” Cassandra said. Her voice was too faint, and she cleared her throat. “My lady,” she tried again, and, satisfied with the strength of her voice, continued. “I have… thought of you, every day, since I’ve known you. I have tried to place my thoughts elsewhere, but you are all I can seem to focus on. It would be my honor if you would take this favor and allow me to serve as your protector. It would… It would be my honor to be your chevalier, my lady.”

Her hand shook, slightly, as she held out the slip of fabric; a modest slip of cloth that was rougher than she would have liked. Vivienne deserved the finest satins and silks, and she could offer her only tweed. 

Silence. Cassandra waited, her face and heart and blood burning. She supposed it was a good sign when Vivienne didn’t laugh at her, or command her to rise from her knees and stop making a fool of herself. Yet still, the silence was torturous, and Cassandra had no desire to be coddled; if it was no, then it was no, and she would deal with it. Better to be told straightforwardly that she was not wanted. 

“Lady?” Cassandra asked, when minutes passed and still Vivienne remained silent. 

There was the laughter, but it wasn’t sharp. Vivienne did not mock her, or make light of her confession; but neither did she accept the token.

Vivienne knelt with her, taking Cassandra’s hand and working the fabric out from her fingers where it fell to the floor. Cassandra tried to apologize, to gather up whatever dignity she had left and leave the room before she made an even bigger fool of herself — but Vivienne stopped her words with a kiss. 

The chevalier in the novel would have kissed back with a fiery passion, losing himself in the curve of her lips and plunging his fingers through the warm jet of her hair; but Cassandra was no chevalier and she kissed Vivienne clumsily, with her eyes half-lidded and her lips quivering and her hands restless on her face and shoulders and hips. 

“Silly thing,” Vivienne whispered, nudging her nose against Cassandra’s. “Do you believe I am interested in having my own chevalier? That seems more hassle than it’s worth.”

“I only—”

“I would have a friend,” Vivienne said, gently, taking Cassandra’s hand and linking their fingers together. She rested her brow to Cassandra’s, and while Cassandra felt a bit bolder than she had before, she closed her eyes against the intimacy, her face flushed. “I would have a companion. I would have someone who stands with me and makes me stronger and braver and _better_. I would have a lover who, above all things, promises me her heart before her sword.”

When Vivienne stood, she pulled Cassandra up with her, keeping their fingers locked together. 

“I do,” Cassandra said, stubbornly, her face still burning. “I mean… that’s what I meant to say, that I promise everything that I am.”

Vivienne smiled, tracing her nails down Cassandra’s cheek and over the sensitive skin of her throat. “Is that right?” She asked, in a smooth purr, her black eyes heavy-lidded. “I wonder if I can believe you. Many people have made their affections for me known, Seeker. How are you different?”

Cassandra gripped her hips and pulled her close. She didn’t channel the chevalier from her novel, but instead found her own boldness, settling her lips against Vivienne’s throat, teeth and tongue toying gently over her pulse. “I _am_ ,” she said, huskily, her breath warming Vivienne’s skin. Her scent was strong, floral and pleasant and as lovely as everything else about her. Cassandra doubted she could ever untangle Vivienne from her heart or blood, and so she melted against her instead, wending their bodies together. 

“I _am_ different,” Cassandra said. “Because no one has ever loved you as much as I do. I promise you that. And I promise you, too, that no one ever will.”

Her arms folded around Cassandra’s neck. “And here I thought you didn’t play well with others.”

“I haven’t,” Cassandra said. “I’m learning.”

The rest between them existed in silence, broken only by soft laughter and softer sounds of pleasure. And later, when Vivienne kissed her and breathed into her, when sweat cooled on their bodies and their flushed skin tingled, Cassandra picked up the favor that Vivienne had dropped and tied it loosely around her wrist.

“I do not love a chevalier,” Vivienne said. “Your favor isn’t needed.”

“I will be your knight, instead,” Cassandra said. “My sword and my heart and my life belong to you.”

The silence, then, was only because Vivienne found it hard to speak with their mouths sealed together.

**Author's Note:**

> written for thatvolyovabitch on tumblr! i had so much fun with this, and honesty, the dynamic between cassandra and vivienne is one that i'm very very excited for when inquisition is finally released; i just imagine they'd have a very interesting and entertaining relationship, with plenty of banter and teasing and fondness. ;3;


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